


Damn, You're Hot

by Loverontheleft



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loverontheleft/pseuds/Loverontheleft
Summary: Brendon x readerI’m home sick and was feeling emotionally weak because, for the first time, no one was here to skip work and take care of me. So this is totally shameless emotional projection onto our boy B. Also, I don’t remember what interview it was but he said he loves watching Queer Eye and The Great British Bake-off so we have the same taste in TV <3Word count: 2k





	Damn, You're Hot

**Author's Note:**

> loverontheleft.tumblr.com for dirty talk and requests <3

“Babe,” you croak from the couch, peering up from under the blankets that are pulled up to your nose. Before you can even get the next part out, he’s at your side, pressing a hand to your forehead, eyes revealing his concern.

“What do you need, honey?” He moves his hand, frowning, and presses his lips to your skin instead. “Damn, you’re hot.” You wink up at him and he laughs, shaking his head. “Not what I meant, even though you always look great. You’re still feverish, baby. You gotta give up some of these blankets, they’re not helping your temperature come down.”

“Tea, please, and I’m not getting rid of any blankets. I don’t want to.” You pout and he sighs, smoothing a hand over your hair. You know he’s right; you know losing some of the blankets will help bring your body temperature down, but you feel so cold and the idea of losing even a stitch right now is awful.

“Is peppermint tea okay?” He’s not even going to fight you on the blanket thing right now; he knows you know he’s right. You nod feebly and he kisses your forehead again, out of affection this time and not to gauge your fever. “I’ll be right back,” he promises.

You close your eyes and try to relax; even sick, your mind is moving a mile a minute, making to-do lists and drafting emails to be sent as soon as he finally lets you have your phone. He comes back and passes you the insulated tumbler, your favorite hot pink silicone straw in place. As soon as his hands are free, he’s pulling his shirt off over his head and starting on his belt. “B, what are you doing?”

“You won’t give up any blankets, right?” You nod, stubborn even in your sickness. “And we need to bring your body temperature down, right?” He’s calm and rational, smiling at you as he kicks his jeans off. You nod again, watching him shed his clothes with interest. “So we’re gonna lose two blankets-“ and he’s swiping them off the couch and off of you despite your protests “-and add one me.” He slips in behind you and snuggles in, hands curving over your hips and pulling you back, flush against him.

“B, I’m all gross,” you whine, knowing that you’re covered in a light sheen of sweat from the excess blankets. He pulls you tighter and you admit to yourself that his presence is just as good, no - better, than the two blankets he’s removed. And he’s behind you so the heat is coming from both sides; this was a really good idea.

“Honey, you really think I care about a little sweat? All the things we’ve done together on this couch; they’ve had us both far ‘grosser’ than you are right now.” He kisses your neck and you relax into his arms, your back against his chest. “Good. Don’t fight it, baby. Just relax and try to sleep. You need to sleep.” His voice is soft and gentle, and he kisses your neck again. “Or drink your tea. Those are your choices,” he says with a smile.

“Tea,” you murmur and bring the straw to your lips. It’s perfect; the peppermint is cooling your throat in ways you didn’t know you needed. “God, that’s good. Thank you, baby.” He nods, quiet, just holding you. “Wait, Brendon, you shouldn’t be here like this, holding me like this. Won’t you get sick?”

“Y/n, you feeling better is the most important thing. You really think I’m gonna let you suffer alone when I can make you feel better by holding you? If I get sick in the process, so be it.” You sigh, knowing better than to protest, and thank him again. “Of course. I love you so much,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” you reply softly, setting the tumbler of tea aside and curling up in his arms. Before you’re even aware of it, with his warm lips on your head and the comforting heat of his arms around you, your eyes are slipping shut.

-||-

“Mmmmmmph.” You wake up with a soft moan, stretching your legs a little and yawning. He’s asleep behind you, arms still holding you close. and you blink a few times, then settle back in against him. God, he’s cute when he’s asleep. Sleep sounds good. You yawn once more and sleep comes swiftly back.

-||-

“That is really quite splendid. My god.” Your eyes drag open and he’s awake, watching The Great British Bake Off. On screen, Paul Hollywood takes a bite of the most beautiful cake you’ve ever seen and your mouth waters. You can’t have cake.

“Why are you torturing me?” You moan and it comes out so pathetically. He laughs lightly and pauses the episode. “That cake looks so good,” you sigh and he kisses the top of your head.

“I’m sorry for teasing you, baby. You can’t have cake, but I can get you some sherbet if you want it.” You shrug, disinterested, and he laughs again. “I know, nothing can replace cake once you’ve seen cake.”

“I’m basically useless until I get birthday cake,” you quip, quoting your mutual favorite show, Parks and Rec. He smiles, but frowns when your eyes close and shiver a little; he turns so you’re in between him and the back of the couch. “That’s better,” you sigh, pressing yourself fully against him. “…But you can’t see the television like this,” you point out as you press your face to his chest.

“I love you more than British baking shows,” he tells you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up a bit higher so your head nestles under his chin. “Do you need anything, baby?”

“No, I’m okay now.” But you shiver again and he pulls back to look at you, worried. “I do feel cold,” you admit, and he sighs, leaning a hand down to the ground. “Don’t give in Urie,” you tease, smiling weakly. “Don’t crack. Don’t let me have another blanket.”

“But you look so miserable,” he protests, and when he brings his hand up, your favorite silvery fleece blanket is in his hand. “I just want you to feel better, love.”

“Don’t give in,” you murmur again, and he lets the blanket drop. “Can we take a bath?”

He considers this, kissing your forehead. “It can’t get too hot,” he cautions, “but we can take a bath if that’s what you want.” You nod, and he stands up, taking you in his arms. “Alright then,” he declares, “bath time.”

-||-

“Mmmm,” you purr, stretching your legs out in the warm water so your back slides down his chest. He moans a little behind you, and tightens his arms around your waist. You wiggle back against him to rest your head on his shoulder and he tries to stifle his sigh when you brush over his erection. “You’re not gonna let me do anything about that, are you?” Your voice is soft and he nips at your neck.

“Nope.” He grins against your skin and nuzzles your shoulder. “Can’t get you too…excited. Gotta keep you relaxed, baby.”

“You know,” you whisper, turning to lay against him on your stomach and looking up at him, “I feel really relaxed when we have sex.”

“Yeah, after,” he teases, kissing your forehead. “During though, I don’t think ‘relaxed’ is the word I’d use for either of us.” You pout and he smiles, leaning down to kiss you softly.

“B, no, you’ll get sick,” you protest and he shrugs, lips finding yours.

“All I’m hearing is more time with you on the couch, in bed, or in the bath.” You frown but let him kiss you. “We can have a sick day together,” he enthuses and you shake your head, giggling. “Movies and soup and tea and cuddling and baths and naps…you know it sounds good,” he murmurs against your lips, and you try to keep your mouth shut before pulling back.

“But who will bring us said soup and tea? And will we just crawl weakly to the bath on our hands and knees?”

He groans, pulling back too. “Don’t make me think about you crawling anywhere, all I can see is you crawling up the bed after you’ve blown me, and don’t make me think about you on your hands and knees,” he warns with a smile. “But you’ve convinced me. I will stay healthy for your sake, if only to bring you soup and tea and carry you from place to place.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” you laugh, turning back over to rest against him and he pulls you close. “Water’s getting cold,” you whisper after a moment and he stretches out a foot to turn the water back on and flip it over to the warmer side. “What happened to ‘it can’t get too hot’?” You grin and take his hand in yours under the water.

“I’m weak for you,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Anything you want, anything you need, you got it. You want warmer water? Done.”

“Are you quoting Roy Orbison right now?” You laugh a little and he squeezes your hand again.

“Unintentionally, but yes, I suppose so. Now, what else do you want, baby?” You bite your lip, pretty sure he won’t give you what you really want. “Except sex,” he teases and you groan.

“Mind reader,” you accuse and he kisses the top of your head.

“Only because our minds are the same,” he whispers, taking your other hand in his and crossing both of your arms over your waist. “Trust me, I want it. All the things you’re thinking, I am too. But you’re sick, baby. I don’t want to put any stress on your body. And you know,” his tongue flicks against your ear, “what I’ll do to your body.”

“Fuck, Brendon, don’t tease a sick woman, it’s not nice.”

“You’re right. Let’s get out of the tub and I’ll show you how nice I can be.” His voice is smooth and you moan a little, letting him lift you from the water before wrapping you in an oversized towel and your bathrobe before carrying you to bed. “Now,” he says as you snuggle under the comforters and reach out a hand for him, “butter or jelly?”

“Ooooh, are we picking a safe word?” You grin and he laughs.

“No baby, on your toast.”

“What?” Your face falls and you cross your arms, pouting playfully as he walks away. “I thought you said you were going to show me how nice you could be.”

“I am; I’m bringing you toast, which will definitely get crumbs in the bed and will be a pain in the ass later. That’s pretty nice of me,” he teases you from the doorway. “And I’ll even bring you more tea.”

“Would rather have your head between my legs or your dick in my mouth, but I guess toast and tea is the best I’m going to get until my fever breaks, right?”

“Right.” He gives you a decisive nod and you groan, slumping back against the pillows.

“Jelly please. And I’m glad one of us can be strong,” you admit, meeting his eyes.

“It’s my job baby, to be strong for you. You do it all the time for me when you’re healthy; you let me be a total recluse and work on my music and you bring me food and make sure I’m drinking water and you drag me out into the sunlight and make me shower. You keep me a functioning human being; let me make you a healthy one.” His eyes are soft and you know he’s right.

“Ah, Urie, you know just what to say,” you say with a sigh, stripping the robe and towel off and snuggling down deeper.

“Sure do. And maybe, if you drink all of your tea and nap for a bit, I’ll give you what you really want…what we both really want.” He flicks his tongue at you playfully and you groan, closing your eyes. “Deal?”

“Deal.”


End file.
